


but we could have lived forever

by Shampain



Series: Epoch [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Heavy Angst, I have a lot of feelings, M/M, No Shame No Beta, Sorry Not Sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24381871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shampain/pseuds/Shampain
Summary: When they took Armitage Hux hostage during their escape from theSteadfast, Poe swore he had been making the right decision.Now, a little over two years later, he sits down with the man he loves while he waits for the executioner.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Series: Epoch [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822489
Comments: 11
Kudos: 88





	but we could have lived forever

35 ABY

_“Are you kidding? You can't just let us go. They're going to kill you.”_

_Hux seemed almost irritated that Poe was complicating his own escape. “No, they won’t,” he said, dismissively. “Wound me and go.”_

_“Alright,” Finn said, not needing much more encouragement than that._

_But before he could draw his blaster Poe already had his out, pointed in Hux’s face. “Yeah, no way,” he said. “You're full of information that could win us the war. We're taking you with us.”_

_“Really?” Finn and Hux asked, both sounding equally unenthusiastic._

38 ABY

Armitage Hux’s location was a secret, based entirely on the public uproar news snippets on the HoloNet had managed to invite. But Poe knew exactly where he was, because he had put him there.

His arrival at the floating prison, camouflaged and designed to appear like a docking station for New Republic ships, set off a round of ‘Hello, General’ whenever he entered a new room or corridor. He had to go through many of them, bypassing the security checkpoints without issue each time. No one dared greet him in any other way, which was by his own design. He’d stopped submitting to the cordialities of the Republic the minute it had begun to disappoint him.

Not for the first time, he missed Leia.

“You’re clear to go in, sir,” said the last of the guards, at the very end of his ridiculous trek. So many hoops to jump through just to get some time, face to face; something he was still afraid of even as he headed towards it. Even at that last checkpoint, Poe thought about turning and leaving.

Instead he went in to the one room the entire prison had been built for: to contain General Hux, up until his trial and execution, because everyone knew the trial would be for show. The prison really only existed as a way to stop any of the galaxy’s billions of citizens into taking the matter in their own hands.

He had imagined he would catch Armitage in a state of limbo, the way prisoners were when they had nothing left but to wait for the end. Instead the other man seemed to have been waiting for him, patiently, seated at the single table in the room that had, originally, been for interrogation. Even in the limited amenities of the cell he was as immaculately turned out as ever. He could imagine Armitage demanding he be allowed to shave each morning, not giving a damn that two guards had to be in the room with him while he did so.

Poe stood in the doorway and for a full minute all they did was look at each other. Poe was in full uniform, and in that moment he felt like his very presence was insulting – because while Poe was out in the world, thriving, a symbol of a government he had slowly begun to hate, Armitage was here at its mercy. The cell had low lighting and no windows. The lack of real sunlight – which had, Poe remembered with a pang, not only brought out a host of freckles but also strength and vitality in Armitage – had begun to draw the colour back out of the other man’s face, and shadowed the delicate skin under his eyes.

Armitage adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. The New Republic had decided it was best for public image for him to be seen at all times in the uniform of the hated and extinguished First Order; he was a member of a failed regime, and it was best he represent that, visually. His clothes were recreated for the purpose of cementing his villainy, and Poe knew the cell itself had been a choice as well, to further the physical transformation.

It started to force even Poe to remember that he had once been General Hux. He hated that he was falling for it, even while he knew that was exactly the intended affect. No one should feel any regret for his death.

“He does not deserve,” one senator was quoted as saying, his tone solemn and hateful, “to exist for another second.”

It was a popular feeling but, when Poe had heard it, he had rushed to the nearest fresher and literally been sick with rage.

_A world without Armitage Hux._

“I didn't expect you to visit,” Armitage said, which was the most insulting thing he could have chosen to say. Poe flinched from it because it hurt, because Poe had been avoiding the visit and they both knew it.

One of their last private interactions had been an argument. Poe had been so frustrated he’d nearly been brought to tears, angry that Armitage just couldn’t _see_ that Poe would take care of him, even as more and more senators began pushing for a formal investigation. He was Poe Dameron, war hero and mentee of Leia Organa. He had brought down Starkiller Base and led their forces to victory against the Sith; his opinions and decisions were met with respect and accession.

At some point during the argument, Armitage had said, “You don’t understand power, Poe. You don’t know that it’s something you have to hold on to and defend.”

He had been right, and Poe hated it.

“I meant to come sooner,” Poe said. “But I was afraid.”

The admittance seemed to mollify Armitage, somewhat. He nodded to the chair on the other side of the table and Poe took a seat. Immediately he wished he hadn’t; there was now a clear divide between them, invisible but there. They were distant enough that their knees could not touch, that in order to make contact one of them would have to make the first move and reach out. Taking a risk, Poe began to slide his hand over the tabletop, but Armitage immediately placed his own hands in his lap.

It hurt, but he deserved it.

“The longer I’ve been here,” Armitage began, like he had prepared a speech; it was just as likely he had not. His mind moved so quickly that Poe had a hard time following it at times, like he was forever chasing after something that, sometimes, slowed down just long enough for him to catch up. “The more I’ve had to come to terms with things. For example, I don’t think you love me as much as I love you.”

Poe’s mouth dropped open. “That’s not-”

Armitage ignored him. “I think that’s just the reality of all love; one person will always be more invested. You’ll love me more after I’m gone, though,” he mused to himself, thoughtfully. “Ideas are easier than people.”

Poe ran his fingers through his hair, then clasped his hands on top of the table, physically trying to bring some order to himself in the hopes that his emotions would catch up. Armitage was stretching him out on the torture rack. He had expected this, but he had decided not to resist. He was not the one in prison, and he was not the one facing execution. In fact, he was not even the one suffering for his own decisions.

“I do love you, Armitage,” he said, quietly.

Silence. But something had softened on the other man’s face.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, so very, very gently that Poe felt a shudder run through him, like maybe he was one vibration away from being split apart. It was almost painful to be subject to the kindness that existed between all the sharp edges of a man who had been forced to turn himself into a weapon.

“The _Steadfast_ ,” Poe said. “I’ve been thinking about the _Steadfast_.”

For a moment he thought Armitage would laugh, or insult him; in fact he simply expected him to _react_ , in some way, out loud, to match the ferocity which Poe felt he ought to be feeling. “Ah, yes,” Armitage said, instead, like such a memory was nothing out of the ordinary. “When you made me come with you.”

“They would have killed you if you'd stayed.”

“Yes, they would have. I wouldn't have lived for much longer after I let you escape. I'm sure it would have been quick. Maybe even painless?” And Armitage's mouth twitched, like he was fighting a smile. “That would have been a change of pace.”

“Armitage…”

“Instead I came with you. And now look at this,” he added, glancing around. “ _Now_ I get to sit and stare at my death while it approaches on the horizon.”

“Do you hate me for what I did?” Poe asked. He propped his elbows on the table and spoke into his clasped hands, as if he were praying, unable to meet the other man’s eyes. He knew Armitage was watching him, merciless as ever. But he needed to know.

“No,” Armitage replied, cruelly. “But I do want you to consider the fact you could have saved us both a great deal of trouble. Because if I have to sit here with you now, I need you to understand the terrible pain I will feel once you leave. You need to know just how agonizing the rest of my life will be. Because then maybe we’ll be equals in pain, if not in love.”

“I can fix this,” Poe said. “You _will_ see me again.”

Armitage leaned forward. His eyes were luminous, almost, in the half-light. It reminded Poe of their indiscretions in the dark, when there was a gap in the change of guard. Back when this thing between them had seemed to only exist on a physical plane, even when Poe swore he could see entire star systems in Armitage’s gaze. Poe was the worst kind of fool, one who learned his lesson too late; the truth was, they had always been more than physical.

“I won't,” Armitage said. “Your vote won't count for much, in the end.”

“It may not come to that.”

“Poe,” Armitage said, and this time his voice had a hard, vicious edge to it. “ _Stop it_.”

Poe finally looked up, bumping his chin against the back of his knuckles, almost shy. There was a feeling starting to grow inside of him, deep like the roots of a tree questing desperately for nutrients, cracking stone and bone. He felt like his chest was breaking wide open.

He had done this. He had sentenced them both to a prolonged and painful future. Yes, Armitage had lived two extra years. Two years where his existence was continuously bought through information, though Poe had really, _truly_ believed that Armitage was merely buying goodwill, not time.

Apparently, Armitage had always known the truth.

Maybe Armitage wouldn't have come with Poe if he hadn't threatened him, or pretended to. Or maybe Armitage was lying and he chose that day to let himself be taken. Or something else, between those two extremes. Poe could never know the answer, and maybe Armitage didn't know either. It really didn't matter anymore.

“You are my first love, Poe Dameron,” Armitage said, calmly. “I could have died without knowing what this felt like. Without feeling this new kind of hurt.” Something in the other man's voice hitched, uncertainly. “I love you. I hate you.”

Poe reached out and, this time, Armitage let him take his hand and draw it to his lips. Armitage brushed his thumb against Poe's bottom lip, then drew away. But gently, as if he did not want to, but knew he had to.

“I want to lie to you,” Poe said, softly. “But I have to tell you the truth.”

“Oh?”

“I'm a selfish bastard. And if I had the chance, I think I'd do it all over again.”

Something in the other man’s expression flickered. For a moment Poe was terrified, in a way he never had been before, not in the many times he had faced his own death, or even those first moments in feeling Leia’s loss and the responsibilities that had opened up before him. He had set his life by Armitage Hux, unknowingly. As Rey had essentially fled, and Finn had gone with her, and Rose had stepped away from leadership and into invention, Poe had been left alone. Except for the man he had stolen – out of pity or mercy or selfishness, he didn’t know.

Now Poe was on the precipice, looking down. Soon he would be the last one left.

“I’ve been writing my memoirs,” Armitage said. His tone was softer. “I want you to have them when I’m done. I’d rather no one but you sees them.”

Poe shook his head. “I can’t… I can’t let myself plan for that,” he admitted. His idealism had finally stopped matching up with reality, and he couldn’t find the strength to deal with it. Not when the source of his strength had been taken from him.

Armitage closed his eyes, looking tired. Real weariness, the sort he wore in his expression, not simply in the shadows under his eyes. “Please, Poe,” he said.

That was all he had to say. “Okay.”

“I don’t blame you,” Armitage said, quietly, after a moment; and Poe felt his heart begin to crumble, collapsing in his chest. “I’m culpable. I knew this is where we would end up.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

“We can’t all be fools.”

“Don’t,” Poe begged, because there was fondness in the other man’s voice. He knew Armitage loved him because the man could not, _did not know how_ , to hide it. He had learned how to read Armitage, and the flickering expressions on his face, that when they had begun to change he had thought he was simply witnessing a new depth to the man he was trying so hard to figure out. It had not occurred to him until much, much later, that Armitage had been so starved for love that he could not contain it when he felt it. And that Armitage had been terrified as it was happening but had not tried to stop it because he did not know how. 

“You had a dream for us, Poe,” Armitage said. “An insane spice-dream where you and I spent the rest of our days in peace and obscurity. I enjoyed partaking in it. But sometimes, dreams are just dreams.”

“And you never told me.”

At that a ghost of a smile flickered across the other man’s face. “Well,” he said, quietly. “I liked it when you were happy. It’s a nice side effect of obliviousness.”

Poe smiled, even though it hurt. Armitage held out his hands and Poe went to take them; the other man’s fingers were cold, like they always were. When they were together in bed, Armitage had taken to worming them under Poe’s undershirt, nestling them into the small of his back to warm them up. Reflexively, Poe chafed at his knuckles.

Sometime in the silence after, one of them whispered, “Don’t cry.”

35 ABY

_Chewie roared his disagreement, but Poe was already strapping Hux down into one of the seats._

_“And don't make any weird moves,” Poe warned, bopping the end of his blaster against the other man’s shoulder. “Or you'll regret it.”_

_A ghost of a sneer crossed Hux's face. “I'm sure I will.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think, and also I'm on vodkertonic.tumblr.com if you'd also like to scream at me over there.
> 
> This fic now has a prequel, [if only we had stayed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503062).


End file.
